


It's Probably Me

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: "You're not going to...kiss me again, are you?" I finally say, breaking the silence. "You've got a one track mind, Mulder," he says, getting off me.





	It's Probably Me

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

It's Probably Me by David S.

Posted for my hubby-extraordinaire: David S.!!!!! -- Satina

Title: It's Probably Me  
Author: David S.   
Website: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi/xtasy  
Rating: NC-17  
Keywords: M/K  
Disclaimer: Someone other than me owns the X-Files. The song, "It's Probably Me" was written by Sting. No profit or infringement is intended. Pizza tastes better at 4 o'clock in the morning. Thought you should know.  
Summary: "You're not going to...kiss me again, are you?" I finally say, breaking the silence. "You've got a one track mind, Mulder," he says, getting off me.  
Archive: Yeah, what do I care? Archive away, you crazy kids! But let me know so I can impress my friends, real and imaginary.  
Notes: Krycek has two arms in this despite it taking place after the kiss in "The Red and the Black." If that bugs you, may I suggest you drink a few shots of tequila before reading. It may or may not improve the story, but you'll be a lot happier regardless.  
Special thanks to Satina for beta-ing and inspiring me to try my hand at this slash stuff. She's constantly argued on Krycek's behalf to me. I'm starting to come around. ;)  
This story had a lot of different inspirations...Satina and Shan's beautiful MSK fics were, obviously, the big ones. I also blame Sting for the wonderful song, "It's Probably Me." The lyrics were soooo M/K. And it's a stretch, but tell me you don't hear some old Moonlighting banter now and then when you read this.  
Dedicated to: who else? Satina. Getting me into fic in the first place was the best thing you ever did for us. ;) Shannon. For showing me what's possible.  
Spoilers: Just about every Krycek episode. Get caught up, ya lazy bums. ;)  
Feedback: Yeah, duh! Send all kisses and raspberries to: 

* * *

Damn her. Shit. Shit. Damn her. Why? It was so much easier before she came into my life. I could afford to be single-minded. I could be obsessed and no one would call me on it. Well, no one whose opinions I valued. And now...now I don't know how I feel about her.

Keep telling yourself that, Mulder.

I rifle through my sock drawer looking for the plastic baggie with my secret money stash. Hope they didn't find it. The light from my flashlight is dimming. Great. Batteries are going ka- shit just like everything else in my life right now.

I flick the light switch one more time to see if the electricity has been restored when I know good and well it hasn't. Flick-flick. Hello, darkness, my old friend.

There's a burning in my stomach that's spreading throughout my body...an awful fear that she's lost to me already. That they've killed her...or worse. I can't imagine. Don't think about it, Mulder. Don't.

It would shatter me.

Digging in my sock drawer, my fingers find the plastic baggie filled with 500 dollars. I hold my prize up to my fading flashlight, then shove the baggie into the pocket of my leather jacket. The light fades, then comes back on a little more faint.

It's hot in here. My clothes are sticking to me and I want to throw up. Any minute the police should be here. Fuck, I'd be lucky if only the police came here. I really shouldn't have come here. They had to have known I'd come back. How obvious can I get.

I have to find her. If I lose her, I lose everything. I was happy to be miserable before I met her. At that point, I had nothing left to lose. But the universe saw fit to hold something in front of me, something more precious than I could ever imagine... just so it could show me what real pain was by jerking her away from me every now and then.

Well, God, you've proved your point. You win. I'm pathetic, ok? You've had your laugh. Now let me find her. I know what real pain is. I know...what real pain could be. And I don't want to think about it.

Finally, my flashlight gives it up and fades to black. Rest in peace, I think, and I toss it to the floor. Keys. I grab them off the coffee table, then freeze.

I hear whispers outside my door. They're here. And I don't think they're here to throw me a surprise birthday party. I pull out my gun and hold onto it tightly. Too often, it finds itself separated from my hand, for some fucking reason. I flatten myself to the right side of my door, waiting for them to crash in and start shooting.

Then I hear it. The short, subdued whine of a silencer. Shots being fired, bodies falling to the floor, then no more whispering. I can smell the faint smoke of gunpowder in the air. The door knob is slowly turning. I raise my gun up, bracing myself to do what I know I must.

The door swings open and the man steps through, his head turning to me, his intense green eyes locking onto mine with a smile.

"Peek-a-boo," he says.

"Krycek," I respond, quickly lowering my gun so it's pointed at his grinning face.

"Careful. You might hurt yourself with that thing." He brings his finger up to the barrel and gently nudges it away. For a second, I find myself letting him, wondering what stupid game he's playing this week.

I bring it back, carefully pointing at his forehead. "If you have her, Krycek---"

He walks over to the sofa and plops down, seemingly unconcerned that I have a gun pointed at him.

"Beautiful night, ain't it?" He flashes me a smile of pure pleasure. He's fucking enjoying himself. "Got any beer? I'm parched."

Sonofabitch. He's baiting me. Like he wants me to beat the crap out of him. Well, fuck him. I'll gladly oblige. I toss the gun onto the chair and leap at him, determined to make his face a lot less pretty.

He's fast, I'll give him that. Before I know what's happening, his leg is spinning around and his boot is connecting with my face. I can't even register the pain and he's up, and his fist has slammed into my ribcage. Hitting all my pressure points...can't even tell where I hurt. His elbow in my gut. He pushes me back onto the coffee table. Surprisingly, it's holding together...much more than I am.

How does he do that Crouching Tiger shit? I don't care. I actually welcome the physical pain...it distracts me from my emotional pain. I deserve to have my ass kicked...can't protect Scully, what good am I?

He picks up my pistol, then does the last thing I expect him to do. He straddles me on the coffee table, holding the gun to my head with one hand, and the other around my throat. I hear the table strain and creak underneath us. He's chuckling lowly and shaking his head.

"You... you always think you can take me. And yet...here we are. It always comes back to me and you. You and me."

I struggle underneath him and succeed only in getting our crotches to rub together. My dick starts to swell and I immediately stop struggling. God, I hope he doesn't notice. I think of Tooms slime and it recedes.

"I usually expect dinner and a movie before I let things get this far, Krycek." That's it. Distract him with a quip.

He laughs, lifting his head to the ceiling. The pressure of the gun at my head remains steady. "You're always good for a laugh, Mulder. I'll give you that." He lets go of my neck and sets the pistol down on the floor.

Sighing, he says, "I'm here to help you."

"Gee, thanks," I say with a big Beaver Cleaver grin. "That explains the whole..." I make a wave with my right hand motioning around. "...you know. Am I bleeding?"

"Just a little bit." He wipes a small stream of blood from my lip with his thumb. I flinch slightly at his touch. "Mulder, I just saved your ass. There were two men in your hallway about ready to shoot you and burn down this entire apartment complex."

"And you shot them in cold blood."

"No. I gave them a verbal warning and told them never to show up in these parts again. They said they were duly chagrined and left. "

He waits three seconds, then continues. "Yes, I fucking shot them, Mulder! Then I put their bodies down the laundry chute. "

"Well, the landlord will be *thrilled.* There goes my deposit."

"Mulder, I'm looking out for you. I want Scully alive just as much as you do. Look at you. The authorities are after you. Even Skinner isn't sure if you're in your right mind. The consortium has decided to kill you once and for all. Scully has been kidnapped and the Lone Gunmen are chasing their tails in Mexico City. Face it, Mulder. I'm the only friend you've got."

"Just my luck." I hate it when he's right. I need every edge I can get. "What's in it for you, Krycek?"

"Does it matter?" he snaps. He actually sounds hurt by the implication. Probably just acting, the same way he did when I first met him. Well, if I can just keep in mind that this man will betray me, then I won't get hurt again. I can take that risk, if it means getting Scully back. I can handle it.

"You're not going to... kiss me again, are you?" I finally say, breaking the silence.

"You've got a one track mind, Mulder," he says, getting off me. I strain to sit up, but everything hurts. I find I'm at eye level with his crotch. His jeans look tighter than they did before. I quickly make myself stand up.

"Um, ok. You're my pal. We're chums. Let's team-up. Gosh, this'll be fun. Shit." I run my fingers through my hair. "We need... We need... Let me grab my credit cards."

"I can guarantee you they're cancelled." I stop and turn around. "It's what I would have done," he says with a shrug. I shoot him a disgusted look. "It's true," he says defensively.

He strolls into the kitchen, opening the fridge, more than likely looking for that beer. I wonder how he'll find anything when he's only got the light of the moon and the stars coming through the window. "These men are powerful and single-minded, Mulder. I know. I've worked for them," he says into the fridge, squatting.

"You were a telemarketer for MCI?"

He turns, holding up a Coors Lite, squinting in the darkness. "Is *this* all you've got?"

I nod, feeling somewhat stupid and embarrassed that I don't have a better beer selection for my nemesis.

"It was on sale." He shakes his head, grinning. "Call ahead next time. I'll pick up something special."

He takes a swig, then wrinkles his face up in disgust. "This shit really sucks, Mulder. You drink this?" He looks more than a little incredulous.

"It's not so bad," I lie. Holy shit. Coors Lite. I bought that back in...'96? Oops.

"You hungry? I'm hungry."

"You won't find anything in there. Nothing that's not toxic, anyways."

He slams the door. "You got that right. Damn, Mulder. You live worse than I do."

"Listen, this repartee we have going on? I love it. I really do. But I need to find her, Krycek. I don't expect you to understand. You'd have to care about something in the first place to know what it's like to lose it." He remains motionless, his eyes locked onto mine. Oh, don't tell me you're hurt by this. More acting, Krycek? I bet you have a dozen Stanislaski textbooks in the hole you call a home. "You obviously know something. So talk."

"Not here. I bought us some time." He chokes down the rest of the beer. "But I'm sure they've got buddies anxious to pay me--us--back in kind."

I cannot believe I'm having this conversation. I cannot believe I'm trusting my life and Scully's to a man that I've never been able to depend on. I can't let my guard down and get suckered in.

"Let's go," I finally say, taking one last look around.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Mulder?" he says somewhat icily. I give him a blank stare, quite unsure what he's referring to.

"Your fish." Ok, now I'm confused. "You're not going to feed him? You don't even deserve to have a pet." He huffs off and grabs the container of fish food and drops some in for little Earl. "There ya go," he says, almost cutely, watching Earl rush toward the floating food granule like a kid getting a present from Santa. It's official. Krycek is scaring me.

"What the fuck is your game, Krycek?"

"Don't presume you know everything there is to know about me, Mulder," he says curtly and heads for the door. "Let's go. I'm driving."

....................................................

"Tell me again why we're breaking into this man's office," I whisper, looking down the deserted hallway.

"Dr. Merkle. Go. Go! Third door. We don't want the guards to see us. Have you *ever* done this before?"

Yes, I have, thank you very much. But never with the distraction of Krycek, that's for sure.

I make a run for the third door and try it. It's locked. Krycek is there instantly, quietly. He's on his knees working on the lock with an impressive-looking set of lock picks. Where does he pick this shit up? Spy-Mart? He *is* pretty good at this stuff. And how he keeps that jet-black hair looking so perfectly wild and tousled--

"Hey Mulder," he whispers, looking up at me. I raise my eyebrows. "Quit looking at me and keep a lookout for the guard. You're making me nervous."

Oh shit. I was, wasn't I? I was distracted by his lock-picking technique. Not by the fact that his face was three inches from being buried in my crotch. Fiiiiine lock-picking going on there.

"Um yeah." I scan up and down the hallway, which is illuminated by a few lights left on for security. I hear the click of the door unlocking and indulge myself by looking down at Krycek again. He's smiling. "And there you have it, Mulder. Less than ten seconds." He opens the door and we sneak in.

"Dr. Merkle. Explain to me again why this is important." He slides into what must be Dr. Merkle's chair and begins rifling through the papers on the desks.

"He's one of ours, Mulder. The consortium. He and several others had done experiments on Scully when she was abducted. There's shit they've done to her that you don't even know about."

A surge of anger overtakes me. Bad memories. Is he trying to piss me off? "Real proud of yourself, Krycek?"

"I protected her at every turn, Mulder. You too. I am the only reason you two are alive."

"That's an interesting spin."

He tries a file drawer, but it doesn't open. He gets out his lock pick thingy and starts to jimmy it. "Believe it or don't, Mulder, but you've got to question your extraordinary ability..." The drawer comes open with little effort and Krycek grins. "...to, uh, stay alive. Damn, I'm good." He sets down the lock pick set and begins going through the files.

I say nothing. Fuck. It does make sense, but Krycek has a way of making *anything* sound good. Ever since we met, I've wanted to trust the bastard, but he betrayed me and left me feeling like a fool. I know he had something to do with the death of Scully's sister. I think he killed my father. And yet...what he says sounds like the truth. But I can't bring myself to fully believe him. If I do, I'm leaving my throat exposed for him to slit it. He could be using me for God knows what...and when I've outlived my usefulness, he'll shoot me, and laugh while I'm bleeding.

"I can practically hear you thinking, Mulder. You're wondering if you can trust me. I empathize. I know I've been a shit. I wouldn't trust me either. But I'm on your side. And I've never actually made an effort to kill you or Scully. You've got to know that."

He pulls out a file and thumbs through a few papers, settling on a red carbon copy. "Here we go," he says, scanning it. He holds it out, offering it to me. I take it, looking it over.

"It's an invoice going to BioData Labs, across town. That must be where they're doing most of their experiments. And I'm betting that's where Scully is right now."

"I don't understand."

"Dr. Merkle. He heads up a lot of these experiments. Trust me. This is our best bet."

"I don't know---"

"SHHH!" Krycek brings his finger up to his lips and we both become silent.

Guards. Walking down the hallway. One on each side. I can hear them jiggling each door handle as they walk on down. Fuck, they must be two doors away. If they figure out our door is unlocked... Krycek and I look at each other, both thinking the exact same thing. We both nod and he runs stealthily over to the door, locking it.

"Closet," I mouth silently, pointing to a tiny supply closet. I tiptoe over to it and promptly tip over a metal trash can, which proceeds to roll across the room.

I wince and Krycek shoots me the Look of Death. He mouths something to me and I think it's not nice.

"Did you hear that?" a guard's voice says, closer than I'd like. "It sounded like it came from Dr. Merkle's office." I watch the door knob jiggle as the guard tries to open it. "Still locked," he says. "Better open it and see."

Krycek opens the supply closet and is motioning me in. I hear the key go in the office door lock and the guard is turning it, trying to get it to work. I rush in, following Krycek, and shut the closet door. My head hits something hard... a shelf maybe, and I grab my temples in pain. Fuck. Not enough head room. I slump down to my knees, and wait in complete darkness.

"You see anything, Tim?" The guard's shoes squeak lightly on the tile. It's been raining outside. Sounds like he came in not too long ago.

"Nope." Krycek must have put the trash can upright. The guard's footfalls are coming closer. Squeak. Squeak. I hold my breath. The door knob moves slightly. Gotta get ready to take this guy out fast. Before Krycek kills him, anyway. He pulls on the handle, but the door does not open. It's locked.

"Well, looks ok to me. Let's check next door, Carl." The squeaky soles move away. "Didja see the Lakers game today?"

"Awww, shit, don't get me started."

The door slams and is relocked. Their voices and shoes grow more distant. I breathe again. Only then do I realize how close I am next to Krycek. My knees are on the hard floor, my chest is lightly brushing his blue jeans... His dick, snuggly inside those jeans, so close to my lips. Well, I can't see it, but I can *sense* it. Goddamn if I can't. I wonder if he can. My own cock is swelling at the mere thought of it.

Krycek's hand is on the doorknob, jiggling it. "Locked," he growls.

"Well, you can always pick it, can't you, spyboy?" I whisper.

The tiny space is silent for twenty seconds as Krycek lets me come to my own realization. My thoughts fly back to the desk----

"The desk. You left it on the desk," I say, laughter in my voice. I'm trying not to laugh. It's not funny. We have to get out of here. But still... "You're so cool, Krycek. I haven't seen that move before."

I can feel his leg muscles tense against me. "Shut up. *You're* throwing me off. I'm not used to having a tag-a-long. Plus the whole trash can thing! "

"You sound kinda pissed, Krycek," I say good-naturedly. "You need to chill." God, I wonder what it would feel like. I can't believe I'm having these thoughts. I can't afford to have these thoughts. I'm close enough to smell the leather of his jacket. To hear him shift every time he breathes.

"So what do you suggest?" I say, hoping a change of subject will get my mind out of Krycek's pants.

"Well, I have a lighter here somewhere. Seeing would be good. " He feels his jacket pockets, then moves down to his pants, patting himself down. As he reaches down to put his hand in his pocket, his fingers graze my face. For a second, my lips are brushing up against his fingers. For a second, he leaves them there. Or does he? All too soon, his hand is gone. Did I imagine it? I wonder.

He's found his lighter, and he flicks it a few times until it flares up and an orange glow fills our space, illuminating it. I look up at him, the green in his eyes practically glowing preternaturally in the shadow of the Zippo's flame.

"We meet again," I say with a wry smile, looking up. Ow. Hurts my neck to look up at this tight angle. More comfortable to keep it down here. Right near...

He shakes his head, trying to force back a smile and failing miserably. It *is* kinda funny, the situation we've found ourselves in.

"Ok, *Agent* Mulder, how do we get out of this one?" He surveys our meager environs, which seem to be overstocked with economy-sized bottles of Windex and other assorted cleaning supplies. Somebody must have had a coupon. Mops to the left. Shelves to the right and above me. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

"What's that?" I point to a grate in the ceiling. Krycek looks up.

"Looks like a ventilation grate...I think it leads to the next --OW! Fuck!" The flame goes out and I hear the clang and skitter of the Zippo hitting the floor, sliding to parts unknown.

"Fuck! Burnt myself. Shit!"

"I think it went this way," I say, not having a fucking clue, but wanting him to feel a little better. Trying to reconstruct the room in my mind's eye from memory, I start to pat the floor, feeling around for the silver lighter. "How bad is it?"

"How the hell should I know? It just hurts."

"Haven't you ever been tortured before?"

"What?" he spits.

"Well, for a tough-ass spy, you sure whine a lot, Krycek."

"Fuck. You. It's...*flame*. It burns. I say ouch. That's the way it works."

I roll my eyes, for my own benefit. "Let me see."

"What?" he repeats. "You can't *see* it, you idiot."

"No, but if I get close enough, I can tell how bad it is. Give me your hand." He doesn't move and I just kneel there at his feet. "Give it. I'm going to stop looking for your lighter, tough guy."

His hand brushes up against my face and I grab it. He breathes in sharply as my fingers brush across his burn. There is a small blister forming, but nothing serious. Krycek is just being a whine-tit. Maybe he likes the attention.

"Too bad we don't have any ice," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Too bad."

I don't say anything and neither does he. It feels hotter in here for some reason. I don't let go of his hand and he doesn't attempt to move. What is he thinking? The same thing I am? What if? I can't believe I'm thinking of doing this. I can't believe. I. Can't. Believe...

In the darkness where I can't see Krycek, I can truly see him for the first time. Free of the bullshit, he's just a man, burned by the flame and burned by life, just like me. We're so alike in ways I've never let myself consider. I don't want to be betrayed all over again. I won't. And yet...

Trapped in a closet, freed from everything else, I place his burnt finger tenderly up to my lips, the greatest gift of kindness I've ever given him.

He shudders and I hear his other hand gripping something, his fingernails scratching wood. I know it must hurt, but it can't all be pain. I can't help myself now. I lick his finger, then blow, soothing it. He breathes in sharply. It is hot in here.

I softly lick up and down the base of the finger and blow gently. Then I take it in my mouth, lightly swirling my tongue around the injured finger. I search out the tiny web of flesh between his fingers and flick it. I can feel his body tense up. His breaths seem to pierce the air with each flick of my tongue.

I run my free hand up his leg, the coiled muscles of his calves feeling tight underneath the denim. My fingers find what they're looking for, the uncomfortable bulge of his hardened cock, desperate for freedom. Still licking and sucking his finger, my hand grazes his crotch, just barely.

He thrusts almost imperceptibly to meet my touch, and the thought kills me. Alex Krycek wants his dick in my hand as badly as I do. What a strange night I'm having.

It's about to get stranger. My fingers are undoing the buttons on his 501's. I've turned off all thinking. I'm way past that. I've ignored every single danger sign and I'm racing down this highway faster than I should. But I don't have a choice anymore.

I've given in to pure feeling. I feel for this man. This enemy. This one whom I once called my partner. Whom I would like to trust again. Maybe I'm ready for it. God, I don't know.

But I want it. And I want him. I want to feel his smooth cock in my hand, in my mouth. I want to make him cry my name in a way that he's never cried it before. How would that sound, to hear him say "Mulder", not out of pain, fear, hatred, or disdain, but of something else entirely?

The last button slips undone rather easily. Careful. Don't want him to think I'm too proficient at this. Like I do this every Friday night or something. I pull down his underwear, and his hardened cock is free. I wish I could see it. I let go of his hand, now more interested in something else.

"Mulder," he says, his voice wavering.

"It's ok," I whisper. "It's ok."

I feel around the zipper, fumbling for the prize. My fingers touch the shaft and it feels just like I imagined it; hard, but smooth. Not too long, but no lightweight either. Damn, I wish I could see it!

I touch him slowly and tentatively, letting my fingers run up the shaft as softly and lightly as a feather would. He gasps in response, and I hear him gripping the shelves above me.

I've never done this, but I don't want to say it. I don't want to say anything, lest it breaks the spell we're under. Best to just shut up and go with it.

My fingers grip the base of the shaft, keeping it steady. I find the tip in the darkness somehow with my lips and softly kiss it. So much of my life doesn't make sense. Why does this? My lips are barely brushing the tip, kissing, kissing. Do I? I do. What's the point of restraint? Fuck. I can't stop myself. I let my tongue do what it wants to, to go to him.

It slides around the tip and swirls lightly, making it wet. Krycek moans softly and I don't think I've heard anything quite as beautiful come out of that mouth of his. I never knew he could make such a tender sound. I never knew.

I take the tip fully into my mouth, flicking clockwise, trying to gauge from his whimpering if I'm doing this correctly. Sounds like I am. I know what I like, but haven't had that done since the early '90's. Arsenio Hall still had a TV show.

Krycek's got one hand in my hair now, his fingers running through it, then grabbing it, firmly but tenderly. He thrusts a little into my mouth, and I figure out he wants me to take him a little deeper. I gladly oblige, taking more of the shaft into my mouth, then backing off again.

From my own personal experience, I know the underside is the most sensitive. Apparently this is true for Krycek as well as I stroke firmly the underside of his cock in a strong "s" motion, up and down.

"Ahh...aaahh...ohgod...Muhl...." His grip on my hair grows tighter and my cock swells in response.

I bob up and down slowly, savoring the sensation of him in my mouth. He was hard before I took him in. He seems harder now if this is at all possible. The throbbing of his cock in me, the feeling of my tongue stroking it, is made all the more vivid by the absence of light. In the black, everything is stripped down to the essentials.

His fingers, holding onto my hair more desperately than he holds onto a secret; the sound of him moaning, trying to cry my name and not being able to form the words I so want to hear; his cock held firmly in the grip of my hand and the warm embrace of my open mouth. What else matters?

He moves the hand that isn't grabbing me by the hair and cups the side of my face, firmly, but with great tenderness. His palm feels hot to the touch and I wonder if I could come from this small amount of Krycek flesh alone.

I let him guide me where he wants me to go, as fast as he wants me to go. It's as close as we get to a mutual surrender. Me, to his dick in my mouth and his hands on my face. Him, to letting me know how much he wants... needs me to do this.

I taste the light tang of what must be his pre-come and know that he's close to losing it. Yes. I want you to lose it, Krycek. Give this to me. I spiral my tongue around fiercely as he fucks my mouth, his guttural moans getting louder and more impassioned.

"Ahhhhh.... guhh....uHH....uHHHHH!"

The sweat of his palm on my face, his fingers, gripping the base of my neck, it's almost too much. Grunting, he thrusts into my mouth and he begins to cry my name, and it truly sounds like a sob.

I take him in as deep and hard as I can. I grab him by the waist and pull him in closer, my tongue flicking mercilessly at the sensitive spot on the underneath of the shaft as he fucks my mouth.

"Muhl...ahhhH...mullllld...ohgod........muh-mulder..."

He can hold back no longer, and I feel his nails dig in as his orgasm overtakes him. His hot, salty come pulsates into me, and it's the next best thing to coming myself.

His grip doesn't relax in the least, but he stops thrusting, letting his still-hard dick lay there in my mouth as I struggle to swallow his essence.

I could get used to this: the way he tastes, the way his whole body tenses up and becomes rigid when I make him come. I tenderly coax the last bit of come out of him with my tongue, not wanting this to end, but knowing it has to.

Finally, he lets go of my head and my hair. I let his dick slide out and take a breath. I miss his touch already. Similar thoughts must be coursing through that mind of his, because just like that his fingers return, this time to caress my hair and wipe the sweat from my brow. These hands which have managed to bring me such pain in my lifetime now seem more than ready to heal it.

I look up wanting to see into those green eyes and read them. To know what he's thinking. Hell, who am I kidding? Even if I could see him, I know his thoughts would be closed to me. Just like mine would be to him. Wouldn't they?

He traces his calloused hands down the curve of my cheeks, down my arms to my hands. Fingers intertwine with mine. It almost scares me. It somehow feels even more intimate than me giving him head. What's up with that?

Backing up, he pushes some Windex-filled boxes out of the way. I nearly fall over as he moves away. I would, if he wasn't holding me by the hands. Fuck, my knees ache.

He pulls me up to a standing position, but my knees are threatening to buckle underneath me. I brace for something hard to collide with my head like before, but Krycek's shift in space has afforded me some head room. I can actually stand.

We stand, chest to chest. My heart races and I feel his breath and sense his lips inches away from mine.

"You're... you're not going to kiss---"

I feel his hot breath signal the arrival of his lips and then they're on me. At first they kiss the corner of my mouth, then find their way to the center. His breath seems to take mine away. They're warm and soft. So not like Krycek. Hard to believe these are the lips of a cold-blooded killer.

A tidal wave of desire crashes through any vestiges of good sense that I might have been holding onto, and I grab his face and hold it to mine, slipping my tongue into his mouth, searching him out for his. It finds me. Great minds.

As we kiss, hands still entwined, I rub my hardened cock against his now receding one. I can't help it. I'm shameless. Then we hear it. A sound in the distance.

We stop for a second and freeze, our mouths still mashed together. Sounds faint. I push my tongue around his and begin kissing him again. He follows, unable to resist my lead.

There it is again. Fuck. We both break away at the same time. Sirens. Now they're definitely getting closer.

"Wanna bet..." he says.

"They're for us."

"Think we pissed off the neighbors?"

"Well, you were rather vocal there at the end. And strangely religious sounding."

"We gotta get out of here. Now." He lets go of my hands. I back up, and I hear him buttoning up his jeans.

"Listen, Krycek..."

"Don't. Not now, Mulder. There's not enough time. You and I both know that. Let's try this door." He pushes on it and it rattles, but refuses to give. "Help me out here."

We slam into it and it shakes beneath our combined push. Again. Slam. Again. I find myself incredibly distracted by the grunts Krycek makes every time we hit the door. But I think it's weakening. One more time...

We hit it and the bolt finally bends enough for the door to push open. We both fall to the ground and a box of Windex bottles comes with us, scattering to the floor. Two hours, and I've managed to give my enemy a blow job and liberate a box of cleaning products from the evil Dr. Merkle. I so don't deserve Scully.

My eyes blink, adjusting to the meager light of the moon and stars coming through the window.

"Well, that was relatively---"

"Hold it right there!" Okay, that'd be the security guard --Carl? Or the other one?-- who's holding a semi-automatic weapon on us. Holy shit.

"Who were you guys expecting, anyways?" I say, nodding towards his gun. "Iraq?"

"Shut your lip and get up slowly. Hear those sirens? They're pulling up now."

Krycek and I share a look for a second, and it's easy to forget that there's a weapon pointed at me. Minimum wage security guy would get a shock if me and Krycek suddenly embraced in a lip-lock, wouldn't he? Maybe later. We both move to standing, as slow and unthreatening as we can make it.

"Police, eh?" Krycek says. "Good. They'll be interested in what your boss is up to. There's some fascinating reading in those files over there." Krycek points to the desk and the guard looks over. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

One second. That's all it takes. In one fluid moment, Krycek has snatched up a bottle of Windex and lets it fly. The guard turns his head to look at him just as the bottle of liquid hits his wrist, knocking the gun out of his hand.

A moment of euphoria overtakes me as I realize that in normal circumstances I probably would have been on the receiving end of that unlikely weapon.

I take a run and leap towards the confused guard, tackling him. Krycek, now in James Dean mode, saunters over to the gun and picks it up, looking at it like it's a new toy. He turns it over, admiring the craft that went into creating it.

"Just what I always wanted," he says with that dangerous smile in his voice.

I've got the guard wrestled to the ground, but he's tougher than he looks. My fist has connected with his face about three times, but I get the feeling I'm doing more damage to my fist than I am to his face. The guard is swinging wildly and finally, one of them connects with my nose. The pain disorients me, and he pushes me off and begins to wail on me. Hello, Krycek? Gun?

"Krycek! Could!" Hit. "Use!" Ow. "Some!" That's going to hurt tomorrow. "Help!"

With my one eye that isn't being beaten, I see Krycek just standing there, doing nothing.

"He's got problems of his own, I'm afraid," a familiar voice says, conveying a lazy confidence.

Aw no. Not him. But it is. I can smell the cigarette smoke. And I know the brand. Fuck. I hear the rustle as about a dozen men rush into the room. Krycek is flanked by two men in riot gear who quickly take away his new toy. They push him up against the wall and handcuff him, which under different circumstances would be turning me on right about now. He's not resisting. He knows the odds.

The security guard gets up, and two of the Smoking Man's goons pick me up and cuff me. A hand on my neck and gun in my back direct me to the center of the room. Krycek's friends do the same with him and we're side by side again. I know we're in deep shit, but it's thrilling to know we're on the same side for once. I wonder if old Smoky will be able to tell.

"Well, well," he says, stopping to take a drag off his Morley. "My two favorite people. Together at last." He exhales and smoke circles our faces." What will Scully think?" He looks back toward his men and cracks the thinnest of smiles. Nervous laughter fills the room. They have no idea who Scully even is. They just know a good laugh cue when they hear one.

"You bastard!" I spit, lunging toward him, almost slipping past my captors. "If you've hurt her!" Nazi #1 hits me in the back of the head with a black truncheon and I collapse to the ground. I'm going to need a whole bottle of Advil, I just know it.

"We've been looking for you, Alex. You had given us the slip. We looked everywhere." He pauses, both for dramatic effect and to tap his ashes onto the floor. "What a surprise to find you palling around with Fox Mulder."

He says nothing. Fuck, is he embarrassed? I push away the pain in my head with worry in my gut. Have I been played? Is he regretting what we did?

The silence is unbearable. The Smoking Man crouches down to my level, presumably so he can kill me by secondhand smoke.

"Don't worry. She's safe. Safer than you two."

I cough on his fumes and the blood in my mouth is erasing the taste of Krycek. Still, I manage a smile. "Thanks. That's a comfort."

"Quite a corner you've gotten yourself into, isn't it?" He stands back up. "Get him up." The men roughly pull me to standing. "Take them to the car. Their banter isn't up to their usual standards," he says, sounding bored.

He pretends to focus on the moon hanging outside of the window as his rent-a-thugs push us out of the office and down to our fates.

...........................

We're in the back of a Lincoln Continental. CSM is riding shotgun. And here I thought my night couldn't get any weirder. We're still handcuffed with our hands behind our backs, but he's keeping his eye out and his gun ready in case we try anything. The car has been silent for ten minutes. I wish I knew what Krycek is thinking. His face is unreadable. He looks so far away to me now. Probably mortified. Or laughing at my stupidity. How easy it was to get me to suck his dick.

"Are we there yet?" I say, channeling my inner 8 year old.

Smoky looks genuinely tickled. "Now that's the Fox I know."

Way to deflate my balloon. I want to annoy him, not make him laugh. Fuck him! Fuck Krycek. I'm not going to let the bastard give me the silent treatment!

I turn to Krycek and just look at him. He's staring straight ahead blankly. I stare, willing him to look back. He doesn't. C'mon. My eyes are on you, Krycek. Look at me. Look at me, you fuck!

Finally, he turns, his eyes saying, What?! "Knock it off!" he hisses.

"There's something left unfinished, Krycek," I whisper back.

He tilts his head and looks at my crotch in disbelief. He opens his mouth, his forehead wrinkling up. "Surely..."

"No!" I say. "That's not what I mean!"

"I'd tell you both to shut up, but you sound so cute," the smoking man deadpans. If our hands were free, we'd both kill that motherfucker. As it is we just give him a really mean, petulant look. Krycek squirms in his seat like he has to pee.

"What I mean is," I say loudly, before returning to whispering. "What I mean is... us. Who am I to you now? I thought... I had hoped... things had changed."

"Now is not the time, Mulder." He becomes incredibly fascinated with the trees whizzing by out the car window.

"Krycek, I'm not the same person anymore. What happened back there in that supply closet--" The smoking man looks back at us, interested, and I start whispering again.

"There's something between us neither one of us can deny." The smoking man pulls out another cigarette and digs for his lighter in his jacket.

"And you've got nothing to say. Nothing." Krycek turns to me and he's... smiling? He pulls one arm into view, free of his handcuffs. He shows me his other hand, which holds a bent-up paperclip. Ah. Ahhhh.

"Fuck you, Mulder," he says slowly and deliberately. "You cramp my style." He winks. I get it.

"Damn you, Krycek. I'll fucking see you in hell!"

He jumps on me, making it look like he's strangling me. Suddenly his lips are on me and his tongue is in my mouth, and we're kissing each other like reunited lovers finding each other after war's end.

In between kisses we exchange insults.

"You piece of shit! I fucking hate you!" Lips on lips. His tongue with mine.

"You lousy cocksucker!" His breath. Mine. Together.

"Lousy?" I whisper, smiling, and he's burying his face in my neck. "I know it was my first time, but, Jesus, that's so harsh."

"Oh god, they're going to kill each other!" the driver yells as I rub my crotch against Krycek's.

"Pull over! Pull over!" the smoking man urges. They're buying it. "I should have known better than to put those two in the same car."

You got that right, buddy.

The car screeches to a halt and we rock rather pleasantly on top of each other. His erection is back and rubbing up against mine. The smoking man pokes his head back with his gun pointed at Krycek's head. Then his mouth drops open when he sees our deception.

"You two... are..." he stammers. It's almost too easy. Krycek's hand swoops up and relieves him of his gun. He raises up off of me and does something I've always wanted to do. His fist connects squarely with the smoking man's face. It looks incredibly satisfying. The old man collapses backwards into the dash, and Krycek aims his weapon toward the driver.

"Krycek... Don't..." I say. He looks down at me, then back towards the driver. "Give me the keys." The driver stares back at him. "DO IT!!" With shaking hands, the driver holds them out, and Krycek grabs them. "Now get out. And start running." The driver opens the door and starts scrambling into the night.

Krycek looks me in the eyes, his icy green softening just a bit. "Don't say I never gave you anything." The smoking man stirs, trying to shake off Krycek's killer punch. "Let's dump the stiff and get out of here."

I nod and smile.

...................................................

He pulls up to the building. BioData Labs. Here we are. "Okay. Here's the plan. I'll cause a disturbance in the second building. Say a little fire. I don't know. I'll improvise. Meanwhile, Scully is in building one. The security will be on my ass while you waltz right in and grab Scully. I have a ghost-key card which should get you in."

I should be wondering where he got such a gadget, but my only thought is what will happen once this is all over.

"Then what?" I say.

"Then you two drive away. It's better you don't know where I'm going." He looks away for a second, then back to my eyes.

"And what if I say that's not good enough?" I touch his hand, but he pulls it away.

"Mulder," he says with an anguished smile. "Mulder."

"I'm through being angry with you, Krycek. There's still some things I don't know about you...but for the first time in my life, I'm willing to listen to your side of things. And you're turning your back to me. Why?"

"Why, he says," Krycek says to the steering wheel. "Because you love her, dumbshit." He lets the words sink in. "Scully. You always have, you always will, and I don't..." He looks out the window, not wanting me to see his face, but I do in the window's reflection, and I see his eyes glisten up oh-so-slightly. "I don't belong." His voice falls at the last syllable and I think my heart might break from the sound.

But he's right. I do love her. And I don't know *where* he belongs in all of this. But I know there is something too real between us to deny.

"Krycek, you may be right. I do love her. But I think I... I love you, too." I watch Krycek's eyes close and it's as if I've slapped him. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you owe me enough to stick around and see where you do fit."

He sniffs and laughs. "Yeah, I do owe you, don't I." He shoots a leering glance my way and I can't help but smile. "But not tonight, propezdoloch. Not tonight. Go to her. Because if you don't, I'm going to fucking kick your ass."

"Krycek, just because I love her doesn't mean I don't---"

"Mulder, just... please... shut up... I can't do this. I'm going. Give me ten minutes. Then go to her." He opens the door and steps out, walking into the darkness.

"Krycek, wait! Wait!" He doesn't look back and he disappears into the night. Fuck. I think it would've been easier if he had slugged me like he usually does. I won't pretend to understand everything that has happened between us. But I know it will never be the same between us. For me, him, or Scully.

Love is hard, hate is easy. And I don't know where this will take us. But I do know I'm sure as hell going to find out. I don't think I can live without either one of them. One way or another, I'm going to find out.

I sit and wait for the fires to begin.

...................
    
    
    It's Probably Me
    by Sting
    
    If the night turned cold
    And the stars looked down
    And you hug yourself
    On the cold cold ground
    You wake the morning
    In a stranger's coat
    No-one would you see
    You ask yourself, 'Who'd watch for me?'
    My only friend, who could it be?
    It's hard to say it
    I hate to say it
    But it's probably me
    
    When your belly's empty
    And the hunger's so real
    And you're too proud to beg
    And too dumb to steal
    You search the city
    For your only friend
    No-one would you see
    You ask yourself, 'Who could it be?'
    A solitary voice to speak out and set me free
    I hate to say it
    I hate to say it
    But it's probably me
    
    You're not the easiest person I ever got to know
    And it's hard for us both to let our feelings show
    Some would say
    I should let you go your way
    You'll only make me cry
    If there's one guy, just one guy
    Who'd lay down his life for you and die
    It's hard to say it
    I hate to say it
    But it's probably me
    
    When the world's gone crazy, and it makes no sense
    And there's only one voice that comes to your defence
    And the jury's out
    And your eyes search the room
    And one friendly face is all you need to see
    If there's one guy, just one guy
    Who'd lay down his life for you and die
    It's hard to say it
    I hate to say it
    But it's probably me
    
    I hate to say it
    I hate to say
    But it's probably me
    I hate to say it
    I hate to say
    But it's probably me
    I hate to say it
    I hate to say
    But it's probably me
    

  
Archived: December 30, 2001 


End file.
